


razor's edge

by Zerrat



Series: blades [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Emotions, F/F, Missing Emotions, Post-sparring Sex, Soul-sharing, it's all about the swords, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/pseuds/Zerrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irelia hasn't been right since her fall at the Placidium, but for her, the benefit of becoming Ionia's blade has far outweighed the cost to herself. However, with Ionia's freedom on the horizon, Irelia is at a crossroads in purpose. When she crosses blades with Riven during a match on the Rift, for better or worse, something changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	razor's edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegadgetfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegadgetfish/gifts).



> Big thanks to [fmo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fmorgana) for beta'ing! 
> 
> For thegadgetfish, because I forever kept failing to come through with giftfic for her. Thanks for all the awesome encouragement with this fic, bro. <3

The stand at the Placidium had marked a turning point in the war for Ionia's freedom. It was far more than that to Irelia, however. It had marked a point in her life that served as both beginning and end - her life irrevocably divided, the two parts never again to reconcile. Had she not known better, had she not lived each, she might have been fooled into believing the parts belonged to somebody else entirely. Childish, naive defiance sat poorly with the cold, edged focus of Irelia's new life, after all. 

Irelia's existence felt like armour and weaponry scavenged from the dead, and while Ionia adored her, she couldn't help but question. If she'd not brought her nation such crushing victories, if they'd not been united against Noxus... Perhaps Ionia would never have so readily accepted her, for all that she'd fought and died for their ideals. 

It was a question with only circular answers, and she knew she was a fool to continue wondering. 

While ever grateful for the Starchild's intervention that day, amidst the blood, ruin and despair, the Irelia that had risen was not the girl felled by Noxian necromancy. The moments she'd spent between life and death had taken their toll. Aspects of who she had been had simply dissolved away like the morning mist.

Irelia had come back _wrong_ \- if there truly was a right way to return from death. 

When she had awoken, the changes had not been so readily apparent. She'd felt exactly as she had in the moments before she'd been felled - brimming with hatred for the invaders, fuelled by her love for Ionia. With new power at her fingertips - Noxian magic, celestial sorcery or something else entirely - Irelia had wrought destruction on the attackers in the Placidium. 

Irelia had driven the Noxians back in a victory that Ionia's people still held dear, even as it bled under the weight of genocide and conquest. For that reason alone, she would never regret the changes wrought on her body.

It was only in the wake of battle, when her anger had dimmed and the adrenaline had faded that she had felt... nothing. The emotion and passion that had once come so easily to her, the gestures... It all felt feigned and hollowed when she'd attempted them. And she _had_ attempted them. 

Despite the disconnect between Irelia's mind, her body and her emotions, she'd still felt a prickle of fear. Just what Soraka had made of her? 

For a time afterwards, Irelia had attempted to hide how she'd altered. She felt no happiness, no joy - and worst of all, she had no sense of balance. Her anger and hatred for Noxus was just barely checked by her love for Ionia. Her body was nothing but a meat puppet, kept alive by the proximity of the blades that contained her very soul. 

Simple humanity felt beyond Irelia. The complexity of life had been stripped away, her very being honed like some sort of prized sword, until nothing but purpose remained.

Despite the changes, Irelia had tried to maintain the guise of living, to pretend that things had not been so fundamentally altered. The ruse had not lasted long. When Zelos had finally returned home from Demacia, his expression when his eyes had fallen on her had spoken volumes. His smile had been false and wary, and Irelia was treated no better than a stranger for all that his words said otherwise.

Even years later, Irelia was surprised at how little it had hurt. But then, she'd hardly felt anything at all.

It had only been then that Irelia had come to understand the meaning of her new existence. It was useless to pretend she was the girl she'd once been. She'd died for Ionia, and in her stead, something far greater had come forth.

Her life had condensed down to pure purpose - for the good of Ionia, and for the fall of Noxus. She'd embraced her new existence with open arms and a dry, cynical smile. She was nothing but a weapon, forged in the fires of war. Accepting the role of Captain of the Guard had simply been another expression of her devotion to her nation. She pushed for a further trial for Ionia's freedom, and agreed to Karma's request to represent them in the League without hesitation. 

What more could Irelia have asked for?

###

As Captain of the Ionian Guard, Irelia had heard much of Riven's Ionian _exploits_. Fortunately for the famed commander, she had never quite managed to cross paths with Irelia during her time. The outcome of any no-holds barred battle between them had remained hypothetical. 

Irelia had been as happy as any other Ionian when the reports of the Coeur Valley ambush had trickled in. Despite the heavy losses incurred by Ionia when the Zaunite mercenaries razed the battleground, Noxus had been delivered an even greater blow. Riven had been a valuable commander, and an irreplaceable fighter, and her loss had certainly brought down Noxian morale. 

It was not long after Irelia had been accepted into the League that Riven had shown up at the Institute - without her former allegiances to Noxus, and very much alive. Objectively, Irelia quite liked the way the Exile's sudden presence spat in Noxus High Command's collective faces.

The vague sense of approval hardly absolved Riven of her past. She'd still been Noxus' favourite attack dog, and as guilty of her nation's sins as any other soldier. It didn't change the way Irelia itched to lash out, to cut the Exile down. Forsworn oaths or not, Irelia would treat Riven with the same cold rage she would Draven, Katarina or any other Noxian. 

She looked forward to having that chance in a League sanctioned match, and she did not have to wait long.

It was simply good luck when Riven appeared in Irelia's sights on the fields during a match. The woman had been jogging east, her gaze fixed determinedly ahead. The summoner in the back of Irelia's head pushed her, urging her to engage and eliminate. 

Irelia was hardly one to question her good fortune, and never would she turn down reaping vengeance for Ionia. In her years of feigned death, there was a lot the Exile hadn't answered for. Without hesitation, Irelia stepped into her opponent's path.

Riven's expression didn't flicker as she slowed to a stop, just half a dozen paces before Irelia. The fragmented disgrace the Exile called a blade was held easily at her side, and Irelia's gaze flickered down. In the months before Riven had met her end in Coeur Valley, intel had put that Noxian rune blade at an impossible size. 

Even as but a fragment, Irelia was glad to see that her scouts had been correct after all. The pride was distant and weak, all too easily subsumed by blistering anger. How many Ionian children had that sword silenced? 

To her credit, Riven said nothing. Most Noxians simply couldn't hold their silence, not when it came to the invasion and occupation of Irelia's homeland. It was all foolish and misplaced bravado - every one of them had bled out at her feet for their taunts. 

Now, it would be the butcher's turn, no matter her broken allegiances or silence. 

Irelia felt her lips draw back in a wordless snarl, and she wasted time no further. She darted forward, lashing out with her blades in a rapid, whirlwind combination that would drive Riven straight to her knees. They moved on instinct, in a savage dance of anger, precision and steel that had never steered her wrong against a Noxian.

Riven deflected the blades with a speed and surety that belied her vagrant appearance, using the ragged edge of her own sword to slow or catch Irelia's own. An interesting tactic - Darius had been the last Noxian to give Irelia much trouble. 

Honourless traitor or not, Irelia could see a shadow of why Riven had been Noxus' favourite murderer. 

Skilled as the woman was, Irelia still had the edge during this fight, her blades fuelled by anger and righteous fury. Even if her strikes lacked the fluidity and balance that her father had always sought to instil, all it would take is a mistimed block or a careless strike - anything that left Riven open to reprisal. 

It wouldn't take long, not on the fields. Soon enough, Irelia would reap the first lot of vengeance for all the Ionians this woman had murdered. 

Riven was expressionless as she darted back, Irelia's whirling blades pursuing her every step - that was when she finally drew Noxian blood. One of her blades bit deeply into Riven's unguarded side when the woman had thrown her sword out to block the others. Even in the midst of battle, Irelia felt a shiver run down her spine at the sensation. 

She could feel the hot blood coating the razor edge, no different in her mind than if it had bubbled up over her bare skin. She allowed her blades to return to her, letting them circle her in a more defensive pattern, obeying the summoner's silent command to... wait. 

As much as Irelia itched to end the Noxian that stood before her, she stayed her hand. She waited just as she'd been bidden, watching her opponent carefully. 

Riven pressed a hand to her side, her clothing stained dark with red. The bleeding was sluggish, Irelia noted, and hardly fatal - it was a pity. 

No matter Riven's obvious pain, her expression was still carefully blank, as though Noxian pride even mattered. Irelia felt a ghost of disgusted amusement, and she offered Riven a hollow smile. 

"You do not bleed so badly for a Noxian," Irelia told Riven, easing forward and shifting stances. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Riven's blood of one of her blades, a flash of red on steel. They began to circle one another again, waiting for an opening, a distraction. "It's the most honour you can hope for, Exile."

"We'll see." Riven finally withdrew her hand from her side, wincing slightly. Her expression was stiff, her eyes downcast, almost speaking of regret. It lasted just an instant before that maddening mask of detachment smoothed back over.

Irelia felt her dormant interest pique - perhaps Riven was not as apathetic as she would have liked others to believe. Foolish as it sounded, perhaps there was a human in there, buried beneath all that twisted Noxian psychology. 

It rang jarringly in contrast with Irelia's entire existence. She'd lost great reams of her soul, humanity traded as the price for the power to defend Ionia. 

Irelia's hands curled into fists, her anger spiking, and the resentment she felt toward Riven in that moment was suffocating. That a Noxian _butcher_ could feel more than she could was just...

She didn't even want to consider it.

Irelia lashed out - and that was when Riven looked up. Her back had straightened, her body language shifting from wary caution to pure confidence. For all the dangerous changes in the wielder, it was the sword itself that seized Irelia's attention. The weapon blazed with green light - impossible as it was, the fragmented blade reforged.

She did not hesitate, and Riven brought the full rune sword up to ward off a strike that should have ended her.

Irelia would forever remember the moment the blow connected. 

Explosive sensation tore through Irelia. It didn't matter that she was caught in a life-or-death battle on the Rift - her entire body froze up. She could feel something other than deep numbness and anger - she could _feel_. There was anguish and regret and self-damnation, flickering images filling her mind. There was fragmented honour and disgust, determination to somehow seek justice for all the suffering she'd caused -

Irelia couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't think. She'd forgotten how painful humanity had been, that it was so vulnerable and easily broken. After having felt nothing for so long... 

She looked up into Riven's eyes, just for an instant, still struggling to process the depth of it all. She jerked, but she barely felt the reforged blade go through her stomach - it only added to her desperate confusion. What the hell was happening?

"I didn't come all this way to just... give up," Irelia heard Riven mutter, just audible above the roar of magic and static in her mind. 

Irelia couldn't help but shudder as the blade was wrenched free, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, determined not to cry out. She fell to her knee, bracing herself on the grassy earth and clutching at her ruined stomach. 

Even dizzy with agony, darkness eroding the edges of her vision, Irelia still found the strength to glare up at Riven's apathetic face. Warm blood bubbled up in her throat, choking her, and she looked back down to the grass, her teeth bared. 

It was almost a relief when her own blades - her own soul - turned and finished the task. 

The world plunged into darkness - cold and silent and everything Irelia had always feared of death. Even fully aware of the magic practiced by the League summoners, that death on the fields was never the end, she panicked. She struggled, scrambling for life with a desperation that was perhaps shameful but nevertheless _necessary_.

By the time Irelia awoke, shivering, disoriented but whole, the torrent of emotions that had been her end had slipped from her mind. Only memories had been left in their wake. 

It had been a relief.

###

"What the hell did you do?" Irelia demanded, her voice harsh and low in the silence of the Institute group preparation rooms. Most other combatants had already completed their post-match routines and left. Those who had lingered had taken one look at Irelia's expression and had hastily cleared away. 

Only Riven had remained, methodically changing the bloody wrappings about her wrists. Her expression was still carefully blank, as though she was completely unaware of the killing intent in the air - or that Irelia had rounded on her, crowding into her personal space.

When she finally answered, Riven's voice was quiet and perfectly controlled. 

"I didn't do anything." The woman still didn't deign to look Irelia in the eyes. 

A typical Noxian - arrogant and domineering, no matter her drab clothing or exile. At her core, she was still no better than Swain or Katarina. 

Irelia's mouth twisted, and she seized hold of Riven's shoulder, ramming her backwards into the wall. Though Irelia had used but a fraction of her strength, Riven's back impacted hard. In such close quarters, Irelia could hear the woman's ragged, shallow breath. One of Riven's wrapped hands settled over Irelia's own, but otherwise... there was no fight offered by this Noxian. 

Irelia's anger spiked. Perhaps all the denial was getting to her, but if Riven snapped and attacked like a typical Noxian, then Irelia would be able to respond in kind. _Without_ receiving yet another of Karma's ever-disappointed looks. 

Irelia would be able to vent the tense rage still clouding her mind, the dishonour of having allowed this woman to best her and walk away. Perhaps she'd even get some answers. 

"I admit I'd expected more. You're a legend to your people." Riven's eyes were unflinching as she met Irelia's. It was almost as though she was daring Irelia to snap and spill blood, just the way she longed. 

"You don't have the right to speak of Ionia," Irelia snarled, her fingers tightening in the ragged fabric at Riven's throat. In the face of such mockery, it was difficult to remember that Ionia would be punished if she gave in. At such a delicate time, with the rematch for Ionia's freedom so close...

With an effort, Irelia released Riven, but didn't back away. She'd never again give ground to Noxians.

"You felt it too. I know you did." Irelia watched Riven's expression, waving a hand in the air and letting one of her blades rotate lazily above her fingers. She hoped it would be viewed as the blatant threat it was. "I've never encountered any such thing."

Riven rolled her shoulder, heedless of the blade hovering just inches from her person. 

"I could say the same for you," she said after a moment, those tired red eyes back on Irelia's, a tiny smile on her lips. 

Irelia's anger spiked again, and before she could get herself under control, her blade whipped out, pressing hard against Riven's throat. The razor edge drew a fine line of blood just beneath the woman's jawline, forcing her chin up lest the blade cut deeper. Irelia watched Riven's throat move as she swallowed.

"Do not presume anything of me, Noxian," Irelia told her, and satisfied Riven was safely preoccupied with the knife at her throat, she let her gaze slide down. The woman was scarred, underfed and wiry, but it was the sword fastened at her hip that drew Irelia's attention. 

It was a fragment again, just one part of an impressive whole. The runes that had lit up along its length had dulled to mere grey etchings, and it seemed inconceivable that such a blade could be reformed by raw will alone. What sort of connection did Riven have with it, to succeed in such a fashion? 

Irelia wondered what would happen if she laid her hand along the hilt, no matter that the sword was so obviously dormant. Likely nothing. 

"I was angry too, once," Riven started slowly, her voice hesitant. Irelia snatched her blade back from the woman's throat, her teeth bared in a snarl. 

Whatever the Noxian had to say, Irelia didn't want to hear it. 

She turned and left Riven alone.

###

With several weeks left before the lots for the Trial would be drawn, Irelia returned to Ionia. The wheels had been set in motion, thanks to the combined persuasive powers of Karma, Lee Sin and herself, so there was little to be gained from lingering at the Institute. The "Trial for the Isle Grudge Match", as it had been dubbed in League coverage, was to be the culmination of their efforts. It was the payoff for not only her own focus, but her nation's. 

No matter that things were finally coming to a head, that there would be endless hours of planning in anticipation of both outcomes... Irelia still found her mind straying back to her fight with Riven and the bizarre, almost electrical share of experience that had occurred. 

Irelia still didn't feel anything new, but the mere memory of those feelings intruded on her every thought. How was it that a Noxian, of all people, could get under her skin so profoundly? At least a prickle of anger in the pit of her stomach was comforting in its familiarity - whatever it was she'd felt back then had been something else entirely.

Her preoccupation with it felt like a betrayal of Ionia. Her nation and people needed her to be at her best, now of all times. If all went to plan, Ionia would soon be free. 

Irelia would be more than happy to put her name forward for the match. Idly, she wondered if Riven would show her true colours and fight for Noxus. As Irelia had learned from experience, a Noxian never changed, no matter the... trauma experienced. 

No matter what Irelia had felt.

Tonight, though, was not a time for battle or preparations. It was long past nightfall when Irelia arrived at her destination, and only the moon lit her steps through the forest. The lateness of the hour didn't concern her - Irelia scarcely needed sleep as she once had, and neither did Soraka. 

Without pause, Irelia passed through the undergrowth and into the grove. The divine grounds had a certain way about them - they were cool and calming, even to someone as profoundly altered as Irelia was. She took a moment, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of forest and damp earth, before looking about the grove. 

Soraka was just barely visible under the night sky, seated comfortably against one of the ancient trees lining her clearing. She seemed to be waiting for something - even though she could not quite make out the Starchild's expression, Irelia was certain she was smiling. 

Irelia immediately bowed, equal parts reverence and deference. Even so, there was a reason she did not often visit, for all that her existence in the world had been inextricably linked to Soraka's.

As Irelia straightened, she looked up, meeting the Starchild's golden eyes. 

Soraka merely nodded back, rising to her feet and moving into the moonlight. Even though her features were lit only by the moon and stars, Irelia looked aside, loath to see the regret in her expression. Soraka had somehow given Irelia the means to make a true difference for Ionia. Soraka also found Irelia's strange existence profoundly wrong, and wanted more than anything to _fix_ it. 

Irelia still had her pride, and for all that she loved the Starchild, and she couldn't bear the pity. 

"I came to ask you... questions," Irelia told her, without need for further decorum. With anyone else, perhaps it would be required - Soraka had long since made it clear she thought of Irelia as one of her own. 

In the silence of the grove, Irelia heard the Starchild laugh softly.

"Then by all means." 

Irelia nodded, though she didn't relax. She'd already given considerable thought to the best way to approach the issue with Soraka, and she needed her answers as quickly and as clearly as possible. She couldn't afford to let herself wait, not when the Exile had blindsided her so completely - not when Irelia could face her on the fields of justice during the Trial. 

She couldn't leave it to chance. 

"My blades contain my soul." Irelia paused, letting her fingertips trail along the flat of one the ornately etched blade. She felt nothing, no different from all the years before, no matter what curious magic Riven had invoked. "Is it possible for... _reactions_ to occur?"

"A reaction. In what respect?" Soraka's golden eyes narrowed, as if in thought. Irelia watched her turn to face the stars - a faithful, if useless gesture now. "You've shown little hesitation to kill, at least where Noxus is concerned."

"You saw the match," Irelia said. She knew, because Soraka made a point to watch all her matches. "Surely you would have seen my..."

 _Hesitation._ Irelia didn't put words to her failure, setting her jaw, waiting. 

After a few moments, Soraka looked back down from the stars and to Irelia. Her expression appeared almost wistful. 

"I do wish I had answers for you, though the stars are not yet forgiving." Soraka shook her head, and the moonlight gleamed from her horn and the curve of her staff. "The soul is a strange thing." 

Irelia smiled, even if the expression felt hollow and meaningless to her. "You know more than anyone of... how I was bound to this world."

"And yet I can provide you no further insight - nothing we have not already spoken of." Soraka was silent for a few beats, those golden eyes steady on Irelia's, as if searching. Finally, she continued. "The magic was far from pure, that day."

Irelia held her tongue - she was more than happy to wait for true answers, and Soraka well knew it. Eventually, she heard the Starchild sigh, as if long-since weary of the duties of the mortal realm. 

"What could it harm, to learn more of the Exile's gifts?" Soraka asked softly, and Irelia twitched, glaring at the being that had seen fit to give her new life and power, if not peace or answers. 

That was not the sort of response she'd expected from the Starchild. 

"Are Noxians truly worth the benefit of the doubt?" Irelia asked, her jaw clenching. Zelos had always claimed she was far too stubborn for her own good, even with those she owed proper respect. A dull ache started up in her chest at the thought of her estranged brother, in place of where true emotion had once been. 

She knew Zelos was well, though she hadn't seen him in years. Like so many others, that relationship had been lost to her, forgotten in tireless duty and her own drastic changes. 

Soraka sighed again, and this time, there was true feeling in it. "Sometimes, I fear for you, Captain."

Irelia just looked at Soraka, unamused. Deity or not, the Starchild couldn't have everything she desired. Facing down Riven once more...

Soraka had remained silent as Irelia mulled over her advice, much the same as when she attempted consultation with the stars above. This time though, her gaze wasn't on the silent heavens, but solely on Irelia. 

"Do you not miss being..." Soraka hesitated, and her eyes were sad. "Human?"

Irelia remembered the devastating weakness of humanity she'd felt, in that moment she'd locked blades with the Exile. It had blindsided her, left her open to an easy counterattack. But given the way her mind inexorably turned back to those moments...

There was an addictive element to humanity, and she envied the Exile - _everyone_ \- for having what she could not. 

So Irelia supposed she did long for it, much in the same way a war amputee yearned for their missing limb. But in the same breath, like an amputee, she'd been forced to adapt, to find new strengths. 

Missing her lost humanity brought her nothing but pain, and she had little use for it. 

Irelia simply bowed to Soraka, not trusting herself with words. Still without proper answers, she left the grove.

###

By the time Irelia found herself at the Institute of War once again, several weeks had passed since her fight with the Exile. The rematch of the Trial was scheduled to begin the following week - though Irelia had not been selected as a combatant, she and every other Ionian champion were eager to watch on. 

There were many details to be settled before the match, however, and there was still so much that could go wrong. Chancellor Hawkmoon and the rest of the Noxian High Command could still pull some sort of political stunt, no matter the Demacian Prince's threat of war. 

To protect her nation against any 'unfortunate accidents', Irelia had arrived ahead of the official contingent. 

Even as welcome as she'd been made at Institute, she had quickly found herself on edge. The false calm - the hollowness - that had characterised her life since her resurrection was not as she remembered it. Her attention, once so steady, was scattered, leaving her unable to focus on what was needed.

It was Riven that seemed to hold her attention, even though the woman was transient figure at best within the Institute. Honour didn't particularly factor into Irelia's interest in the Exile, either. While she had vowed to bring the Noxian butcher to justice for the Ionians she'd killed, still intended to claim that vengeance... 

Irelia itched for combat, in a way she hadn't experienced in many years. She wanted to cross blades with the Exile once more - just to catch another taste of that humanity. 

Perhaps Soraka's advice was worth some consideration, after all.

###

The current dispute being settled in the Rift was between a Zaunite scientist with a penchant for crystal experimentation, and his Piltovian rival claiming intellectual theft. It was a common enough argument between the city-states, and the complainants were practically on a rotating roster. 

For such a comparatively minor dispute, especially with every summoner worth their salt vying for a spot in the Trial rematch, Runeterra barely cared. 

The only reason Irelia paid the matter any mind at all was simple. In a conversation with Lux just a scant few hours before the match, she'd heard the elusive Exile had agreed to lend her blade. When her sources in the administration wing had confirmed the rumour, Irelia immediately put her name forward. She pulled what political capital she'd had left, all the favours she was owed. 

Irelia had gotten exactly what she'd wanted, landing herself a spot representing the Piltovian scientist with one of her favourite summoners. The Exile and her independent summoner had ended up drawing lots with Zaun, and so the match was set. 

A strange, bone-deep electricity had stirred in Irelia's blood at the confirmation, setting her on edge. She allowed none of it to show, her blades hanging motionless in the air as she awaited the match's start in her summoning chamber. 

The sensation was a strange one - it didn't feel like her old anger, her desire for Noxian blood on the edge of her blades. It was something else, something deeper. She was curious what had happened, what had changed when she had been static and unfeeling for so long. 

If Riven would be reticent with the answers Irelia needed, she'd face the Exile in every match and haunt her every step. Riven would eventually concede. 

No matter her eagerness, Irelia didn't seek out Riven, her actions mostly at the whims of her summoner. Fate was on her side regardless. Riven appeared across the pathway from her, pushing her way free of grass and undergrowth without hesitation. 

The fervour in Irelia's blood increased three-fold as she glared across the grassy pathway at her target. A thrill ran down her spine - but for the sound of battle nearby and the summoners in their heads, they might as well have been alone. 

Riven was expressionless, her face again a mask of apathy. Her eyes though... they betrayed her. Irelia felt her lips lift in a smirk she could feel. 

The Exile was interested in a rematch, too. 

Even with summoners dictating their actions in a League-backed conflict, they both flowed into battle with a decisive simplicity. Riven was quiet, just as she'd been the first time they'd crossed blades, completely focuses on the fight at hand. As they fell into a pattern of attack, defence and evasion, Irelia found herself relaxing. 

It had been a long time since she'd truly enjoyed herself in battle. Not the way she had before she'd fallen at the Placidium, when there had been a thrill to combat, to perfecting her kata and sensing her father's pride. All that had slipped away from her mind when she'd died. She hadn't even realised she'd missed it. 

Riven dodged more often than she blocked, impossibly twisting her way out of Irelia's whirlwind of blades, escaping barely harmed from formations that would have brought many to their knees. Irelia urged her own blades faster. 

If the Exile believed she could win this fight with evasion alone, Irelia would disabuse her of that foolish notion. 

Focused as she was, with every scoring blow, Irelia caught a flash of sensation. They were just hints at something dizzying - something sweeter and far deeper than she'd been able to comprehend during their first confrontation.

Irelia hadn't been looking for them that time, too caught up in her anger and her thirst for vengeance. There was more there now, but the sensations were still just flashes, and nowhere near what she knew was possible. 

She forced Riven back yet again, picking out the sheen of sweat on her opponent's brow and arms, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. They were all clear signs she was pushing Riven to the limit, and yet... still the Exile would not reform the blade. 

Irelia's lip curled, in spite of how enjoyable she found the fight. She didn't feel the same exhaustion that affected Riven - surely her opponent had realised. The only thing Irelia did feel was a deep, thrumming tension that pervaded her every sense, fed by those flashes of sensation. 

She pressed her advantage, her blades whirling in another complex pattern designed to draw the Exile into reforging her blade. Riven caught each of them against the jagged edge of her own, her hands and arms a blur, blocking and countering. Her speed and precision would have impressed Irelia's father, had he lived to see Ionia's fall. 

When Riven managed to catch four blades against her own in a picture perfect weaving block, ducking in so that less than three feet separated them, Irelia's breath caught. That was it, _feeling_ in all its complexities, the strange sensation almost deliciously sensitive, just for an instant -

Riven grunted under her breath and stumbled, and considering the speed and precision of their encounter, the error was fatal. She jerked as the blades sank into her shoulder, her chest, her gut in rapid succession. For a moment, the Exile simply hung there, suspended by the telekinetic force of Irelia's power. 

Irelia froze, her hand outstretched. She wasn't sure if it had been to press the attack or to stop it, but either way...

It appeared their fight had come to an end, far sooner than Irelia had desired. 

Blood erupted from Riven's mouth in a sharp, sickening burst. Irelia didn't move away, didn't even twitch as she felt the blood splatter against her armour. This close to the Exile, she could hear the strangled, laboured breath the woman attempted to suck in through punctured lungs, uselessly clinging to life. 

The broken blade didn't slip from Riven's grasp even as she fell, her expression relaxed as death took her. Irelia respected her for that - even if she was a Noxian. 

She watched Riven for a moment, the tension that had been building in her body abruptly fizzling out and dispersing. Gently, Irelia pulled her blades from Riven's fading body, though she was unsure why she took such care. Such a thing hardly mattered to a dead woman, and yet...

Irelia turned her attention away from the grass where Riven had fallen, watching the blood slicked blades move through the air at her bidding. 

Unsurprisingly, killing Riven had done _nothing_ to sate the strange itch Irelia had felt since their last encounter. The hollow feeling of thwarted anticipation slowly melted away as her jaw clenched, immediately yielding ground to a deep, furious anger. 

She'd been cheated of the answers she'd sought, a proper conclusion to their battle - all because Riven had ended up with an _idiot_ for a summoner. 

It appeared Irelia's summoner was no longer interested in pursuing Riven, and Irelia did not get the chance to face her target again before the match's conclusion. That sword had remained broken, untouched by Riven's will.

Irelia should have been more pleased that her side had claimed victory, that she'd spilled yet another Noxian's blood. It had been enough, before Riven and her broken sword, but now... the feeling was a strange one. 

She was not used to such a failure.

###

Irelia had considered lingering at the opposing team's group preparation rooms, but after some thought, she decided against it. Last time, confronting Riven with direct questions had not been successful, and Irelia rather doubted that killing the woman had earned her any favours. 

She could understand that feeling well enough. Forget the invasion of privacy that came hand in hand with having a summoner in her head - death had always been the aspect of a League match that Irelia loathed the most. 

She left the preparation rooms without a further word to her teammates, instead opting to head for the Institute's grand entrance. Some fresh air would allow her to keep a clear mind, though the idea of needing to do so was laughable. Irelia had been focused on a goal - on Ionia's freedom from the Noxian invaders - for as long as she could remember. 

Really, her interest in Riven's sword was but a distraction from what truly mattered. The all-important rematch for Ionia's rightful independence was so soon - it was better that Irelia forgot the sword and its strange owner. 

She'd not had a similar reaction before, after all. It stood to reason Riven would remain the sole... outlier. 

Satisfied with her own resolution, Irelia continued through the Institute's grand doors and into the open air beyond. Her detached sense of peace was not to last, though - it was on the Institute's steps that she found Karma waiting. 

Irelia hesitated the moment her gaze rested on her leader's back, a faint stirring of surprise in her chest. Karma had been scheduled to arrive much later in the week - just in time for the decisive match. Belatedly, Irelia realised that her fixation on Riven might have distracted her to a far greater degree than she'd considered. 

Karma looked up as Irelia approached and bowed, waving off the formality with her usual grace. 

"I saw your match, Captain." Karma's voice was warm, her body relaxed, as though she hadn't been waiting for Irelia at all. "That was a very interesting show, though the same could not be said of the conflict it resolved."

Irelia straightened, meeting her leader's calm, understanding eyes easily. There had always been a depth to Karma's gaze, for as long as Irelia had fought at her side. The woman had a complex understanding of both human nature and the root of conflict itself, and she approached those matters with balanced aplomb. 

In comparison, Irelia was but a harsh, edged weapon. She was fury, static and unchanging as she'd been at the moment of her death, so many years ago. She was a sword forged for a singular purpose, even if her making had been the result of chance alone. 

Karma, on the other hand, had never allowed herself to be mired down by the conflict, seeing beyond Noxus' invasion with a clarity few could boast. Of all the fractured factions growing throughout Ionia - even if she had not been Ionia's soul made manifest - Karma was the way forward. That had been why Irelia had sworn allegiance to her and no other. 

That was not to say they never disagreed. 

"The representative lots have been drawn for the Trial," Karma said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. She cast Irelia a fleeting look from the corner of her eye, before turning her gaze back to the fields stretching out from the Institute. "Are you unhappy you were not selected?"

"I would have enjoyed settling blood grudges," Irelia allowed, and a smile curled one of the corners of her lips. She would have relished the chance it as much as she was able to. 

Her match against Riven flashed to mind, intrusively persistent as it always was. She'd certainly enjoyed that fight, without reservation. She hadn't even experienced the same level viciousness she'd come to expect from herself - at least when facing Noxians. 

Karma was nodding though, her expression thoughtful. "Perhaps that is why we were not selected, and why the more... prominent Noxians will also be absent."

It did make sense, in a twisted, calculating way. The League claimed to be neutral, and doubtless, feelings would be running high for this rematch. In this, Irelia saw nothing wrong with emotion. Objectivity was the last thing she cared for - at least where Ionia was concerned. 

"How can they expect me to be neutral, when my home is at stake?" Irelia demanded, half to herself. All the politics that had surrounded the event were disgusting, no matter her own role in securing the rematch. 

"Understandably, Captain." Karma's voice was mild, and she said nothing further as she turned back from the fields. 

In that moment, Irelia was struck by a sense of premonition - she knew exactly why her leader had sought such an impromptu meeting. Much like Soraka, Karma had long been troubled by Irelia's anger and hollowed out emotion, though wisely, the topic was not often broached. 

Resignedly, Irelia closed her eyes. Given her issues with Riven, though, Karma's judgement was the last thing she wished to deal with. 

"You wished to speak with me, then?" Irelia asked, after a moment, and Karma nodded. 

"I feel that it is time you let go of the anger that drives you." There was no preamble, no words to soften the strike. For Karma, it was merely the statement of a fact, grounded in the same divine logic that had seen her throw away her desire for vengeance. 

Irelia allowed her no reaction, merely clasping her arms behind her back and waiting. Karma sighed at Irelia's lack of response, the only crack of vexation in her otherwise perfect calm. 

"A sword has no other use, but to bring death and destruction." Karma looked over her shoulder, her lips pursed. "You are worth more than that, do you not think?"

"I am the blade Ionia needed," Irelia replied, the answer learned by rote after so many years. She'd been long been weary of the topic, and if Karma still hadn't seen fit to adapt her arguments... 

"And when Ionia no longer needs a sword? What then happens to you?" Karma studied her, her gaze still gentle and understanding even as she challenged Irelia. Karma's patience was infinite, for all the decisive action she'd taken for Ionia. 

"I do not say this for Noxus' benefit, Captain. I say this for yours," Karma continued, her words deliberate and slow. "Your anger toward Noxus - justified though it is - will only continue to harm you. Even should we secure Ionia's freedom... I fear what that means for you."

Irelia had opened her mouth, about to argue the point as she always had, when Karma's last statement gave her pause. 

Ionia's freedom was so close, that much was true. If Irelia woke up the morning after her nation won its rightful freedom, would she be able to feel anything but her own rage? Would she feel less dead inside?

Irelia's jaw tightened, her fingernails biting into her own wrist as she kept her hands resolutely clasped behind her back. The only thing that had brought her anything but anger had been her matches with Riven. 

She held her silence, unwilling to follow the thought through to its conclusion. 

"Ionia will always need a sword," Irelia said instead, falling back on the one truth her nation had learned since Noxus' invasion. Never again would they allow themselves to become subjugated by outsiders.

Karma could guide the people beyond the conflict, but never would they forget. 

Karma nodded to herself at the certainty of Irelia's words, turning back to the fields once more. She seemed deep in thought, her expression serene. 

Irelia wasn't fooled - she knew from experience that the conversation would not end until Karma allowed it. She closed her eyes for a moment, relaxing her clasp. The cool wind stirred her hair, dampening her irritation. She almost felt balanced out here, in the warm sun and the cool breeze, though such a thing was impossible for her. 

Sometimes, she could dream.

"The Exile," Karma said suddenly. The seriousness in her tone had fled, leaving it almost conversational. She did not appear to have noticed the way Irelia had twitched at the mention of Riven. When it came to Karma, however, it was difficult to be certain. "What do you make of her?"

"She's Noxian." The response was automatic on Irelia's lips, and it was as true as ever. Riven was a Noxian, with all the baggage inherent for her nation. Desertion was not going to change that.

Such a stock answer was never enough for Karma, however. After a moment of searching for something else, Irelia forced herself to continue. If Karma wanted an honest assessment, then she would attempt to provide it. 

"She's... something different," Irelia said, hesitating. It was difficult to admit that much, even without all the other factors hampering her judgement. "Whatever happened in Coeur Valley changed her, from what best I can tell."

Karma nodded, casting Irelia a small smile. "A sword was reforged into something else, then. What and why that is, none but the Exile can say."

So that had been Karma's goal - in broaching the topic of Riven, she had related it straight back to Irelia's own problems. Irelia supposed she should be flattered that Karma and Soraka persisted as they did. She normally felt nothing, but there was a suggestion of warmth in her chest... 

Irelia would entertain it a little longer, then. She owed Karma that much. 

"When we cross blades... I feel something." Irelia had often spoken to Karma of her anger, and as she saw her leader frown, she amended, "I feel something different."

Karma's gaze sharpened, and she turned back to Irelia fully. "Explain for me."

"Fleeting... emotion. When she reforges that blade, enough of her soul is within it that I... feel." There was simply no other word for it. It was _feeling_ , when such a thing had been beyond Irelia since her fall. 

She didn't speak of the anguish and pain that she'd experienced right along with it. She didn't mention the terror, the sense of betrayal of the highest order. She was sorry she'd felt those things at all. 

Those traumas belonged to Riven alone. They all had their demons. 

Karma _smiled_. Far from being worried that a Noxian was compromising one of Ionia's greatest assets, she looked delighted. 

"You have spoken with Soraka regarding this... development, then?" Karma asked, and there was a trace of excitement in her tone, as though Irelia had given her a gift like none other. 

"The Starchild believes I should pursue the matter." Irelia's jaw tightened, and she looked away from Karma's green eyes. She was not accustomed to seeing such... enthusiasm from her leader. "I'm not convinced now is the time."

"Now is the _only_ time, Captain." Karma reached out, resting a gentle, warm hand on Irelia's shoulder. "You are to be a leader in a new Ionia. To give all that will be demanded... you will need to be more than you are."

"Then this is for Ionia, then?" Irelia asked, after a long moment. If it was for Ionia, there was nothing that she wouldn't do. 

Karma sighed at that response, and muttered something under her breath in ancient Ionian. Based on experience, Irelia doubted it was complimentary. 

"This is for you. You've tried fighting to fill the void, to make sense of what you've become. And I am the last one to say those battles were not needed." Karma smiled at her, and her clasp of Irelia's shoulder tightened reassuringly. "Why not seek a sense of peace for yourself? Make that your goal, Captain."

"Of course." Irelia spoke the words dutifully, even if she didn't understand how she was meant to follow the odd orders she'd been tasked with. Becoming more for herself... it felt impossible. She didn't even know where to start. 

Fighting had been all Irelia had been able to understand for so long, but then, she supposed Riven had been much the same. If a Noxian could do it...

Karma seemed done with the topic, and somewhat relieved, Irelia bowed and excused herself. 

She had a lot she needed to think about.

###

Much the way Karma had predicted, the rematch had seen Ionia win its freedom. Noxus' hold on the island was broken, and a new era was to begin. While there had been celebrations, Karma had reminded all Ionian nationals at the Institute that the simple part had ended. 

Rebuilding, refocusing, and moving beyond Noxus' conquest would be their new goal. It would take dedication and understanding, and the scars their nation bore would remain forever. Irelia had known without a doubt that Karma's eyes had been on her as she'd told them all to seek peace and balance, no matter how difficult the task was. 

Following the speech, Irelia had decided to remain at the Institute. The idea of returning home, victorious, with the rest of her countrymen should have pleased her, but... 

Again, just as Karma had predicted, the victory over Noxus had given Irelia neither peace nor satisfaction, and she'd felt more hollow than ever as she'd watched the revelries. 

There had only been one thing that had ever granted Irelia even a semblance of the balance she needed. Only one _person_. 

Two weeks after Ionia was won, Irelia watched Riven arrive at the Institute, weary and dusty from her travels. The gods only knew where that woman wandered, what purpose in life she'd achieved, but there was a confidence and focus to her stride that Irelia had never before cared to notice. 

She crossed her arms, feigning disinterest even as her every muscle ratcheted tight, waiting. Her blades _focused_ on Riven as she passed by, every fold of metal alive with interest. They craved blood, combat, whatever it was that Irelia actually needed from Riven. 

Irelia couldn't really tell - it all felt the same to her. 

Riven's eyes slid sideways as she passed, flickering up and down... Irelia's jaw firmed, biting down on the inside of her cheek until she was certain she'd drawn blood. That gaze meant something, too. 

It was only after the woman vanished into the cool hallways of the Institute that Irelia relaxed, releasing a long breath from between her teeth. Her blades eased back to her sides, returning to a semblance of dormancy.

Irelia still didn't know where to begin, but... she could make it work. She would make it work.

###

"Heard you were looking for me," Riven said, sliding onto the tavern bar stool at Irelia's side. Her voice was always surprisingly light - something Irelia hadn't expected of a warrior all of Ionia had feared and hated so. 

Riven seemed well aware that Irelia had been searching for her for the better part of a day, too. Irelia shot her a dark, tight look, unsure if the woman was mocking her. 

The Institute's tavern was mostly empty at such an early hour, an unexpected benefit. Irelia hardly wished to broadcast her issue to the League at large - not when she was no closer to understanding Riven or the effect she had. 

"You know what I want," Irelia said, keeping her words blunt in a way that was almost offensive. Noxians had always appreciated a certain... brusqueness, though. 

As much as Irelia hated Noxus and all it stood for, she did see the necessity of knowing one's enemies. Besides, if she wished to draw the blade's history from Riven, a little civility was needed. 

Riven seemed to react well to the bluntness. She nodded, slowly at first, before signalling to the barkeep for a pint. It was only when she'd received her ale and had taken a long, deliberate draught that she finally spoke. 

"I have my guesses, I suppose." Riven's eyes were both flat and wary when she looked back toward Irelia, despite the suggestion of a smirk on her lips. "Killing me is one, though I doubt you'd succeed."

Irelia's jaw clenched, though she didn't comment on the remark. It was merely coincidence that one of her knives lashed out, embedding itself deep in the scarred wooden bar top. Riven didn't look the least bit perturbed by the blade still quivering in the wood, less than a finger-span from her hand. 

She merely shrugged, raising the tankard to her lips again. "No slight intended, but better people have tried. And you'd need to join quite a line."

Irelia's eyes traced the exposed scars on the back of Riven's hand, the ones that trailed up her bare forearm and bicep before vanishing beneath her clothing. Some of them appeared new, some of them silver with age. How many of those had been earned from assassinations, or from close encounters with those seeking vengeance? 

The woman was a deserter from one of the most obsessive and violent armies in all of Valoran. If she'd wanted to stay alive in the years before she'd joined the League, Riven would have needed to ensure her death would have cost Noxus more than it gained. 

Irelia's eyes flickered down to the shard of a sword hanging at Riven's side, present as it always was. She wanted to demand answers of Riven, all she felt she was owed given the strange effect the weapon had on her. She wanted to understand. 

Why Riven? Why now? Perhaps the thing was a family heirloom, or had belonged to a summoner at some point. _Something_ had to be different. 

Irelia exhaled, reaching out and drawing the knife from the wood with her will alone. She studied the curved edge of the weapon as it rotated in the air, listening to the ambient sounds of the Institute tavern. 

"Your sword," Irelia started, letting her weapon return to her side. "How did you come by it?"

She looked up, then, meeting Riven's eyes with a flat scowl. Riven merely shrugged, a tiny movement of her shoulders. Her chin was rested on the palm of her hand, and she was slouched almost carelessly across the bar top, her fingertips trailing the lip of her tankard.

"It was a gift." Riven's lips twitched, curving into a cold, unfeeling smile. "Surely you know. Noxus rewards her favoured children by giving them more ways in which to kill."

There was a telling undercurrent of tension to her voice that hadn't been there before. Riven really had been living in isolation if her lies were so poor. Irelia was quite familiar with standard Noxian arrogance - she'd put up with their stewards for years, she saw it in her dreams every night - and she knew Riven's rang false. 

Irelia leaned forward, in no mood for pander to Noxian mind games. "You've no need to act." 

Riven's eyes narrowed, just a fraction, the feigned smirk fading immediately into her usual blank mask. She shrugged again, raising her tankard to her lips to take another sip. 

"It was given to me, yes," Riven said, her voice completely bland when she continued. She sounded no different than if she'd been remarking on the weather, rather than discussing something Irelia knew caused her pain. "By Noxus. I loved my country, more than anything."

Irelia's lip curled, her hands clenching reflexively into fists on the bar top. While she was willing to let her curiosity of Riven override her better instincts, a proclaimed _love_ of Noxus? It just made her angry. 

Perhaps she'd hoped the Exile had seen reason, given the way her nation had seemingly betrayed her values. 

"And yet you broke the gift it gave you." The words came before Irelia could caution herself, and she immediately realised her error when Riven's body went rigid. 

"The alliance with Zaun broke it." Riven's voice was flat, almost careless. The battered metal tankard clenched in her hands groaned slightly under her grasp. "I merely finished the job."

Irelia wasn't fooled by the Riven's detached tone, even if she recognised the words as truth. She could remembered the intensity of Riven's emotions all too well - they invaded Irelia's every idle thought. There was pain, no matter what apathetic pretences the woman indulged in. 

"And yet you can reforge that sword. What does that say about you, Noxian?" Irelia watched her, wondering. 

Perhaps Riven did still believe in Noxus, for all the terrible deeds committed in its name. Perhaps that was why the Exile could access broken runes on a shattered blade, could still wield a gift from a nation she'd turned her back on. 

Irelia had thought there would have been more to understand - more reasons as to why that sword had such an effect on her. Why it made her feel something, when for years she'd had nothing. If there really was no trick to it, Irelia had nothing to work with.

Riven leaned in, so close that Irelia could smell the ale on her breath. She could smell the dust and sweat of her body, and the underlying suggestion of warmth. Riven's expression, however, was frozen as she took possession of Irelia's personal space. 

Just as they'd been during their battles, Riven's eyes betrayed her mask - they reflected nothing but anger. 

_Good._ Irelia wondered if the Exile would finally draw her blade and lash out, a no-holds-barred combat Irelia had desired since that first encounter in the Rift. 

An anticipatory thrill ran down her spine. 

Irelia locked gazes with Riven, refusing to concede anything, trying to bait the woman into finally taking action or backing down. Riven didn't drop her gaze, didn't so much as flinch. The tension in the tavern had skyrocketed, and they were as dry tinder - just a spark away from a fire, just a twitch away from breaking into violence. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Riven looked aside, her lips pressing into a tight, thin line. Irelia's flash of satisfaction was short-lived, and she jerked, watching Riven lean back and carefully set gold on the countertop. 

The tankard of ale stood forgotten, only half finished, and Riven rose abruptly to her feet. 

Irelia ruthlessly crushed her mix of surprise, anger and disappointment. Riven was just a Noxian anyway. Irelia had been as civil as such a heritage deserved, and if Riven would not shoulder the responsibility for her own actions, then what good were all her claims of repentance? 

Finally, Riven looked back to Irelia. 

"You're wrong. I don't know what you want from me." Riven's expression was closed off, completely unreadable as she glared down at Irelia. "And I'm finding it hard to give a damn."

Irelia didn't answer, didn't know what the answer was meant to be. 

Riven was silent, and her eyes only grew colder as Irelia allowed the quiet to continue. Finally, she shrugged easily, as though she hadn't a care in the world, as if she hadn't challenged Irelia and found her wanting. 

She didn't even look back as she left the empty tavern. 

Irelia watched Riven's retreating back, furious and cursing under her breath. Her fragile leash on her temper shattering, she slammed her open palm against the bar top. She swallowed, wavering for a moment, wondering if she should pursue the woman - before forcing it all back down into the unstable little box in her chest. 

Yes, she was angry with Riven. Impossibly so, all for making her whole damn life so complicated. More than anything though, Irelia was furious at herself.

Riven was right. Irelia had no idea what she wanted.

###

Loath to admit defeat, Irelia stayed on at the Institute. She couldn't return to Karma without having made progress, but even crossing paths with the Exile was proving exceedingly difficult. 

She'd barely caught a glimpse of Riven since that afternoon in the tavern. When it came to the woman's matches, Irelia only ever managed to find out after the fact, no matter how many strings she pulled with the administration staff. It was useless to wait outside Riven's assigned rooms - the woman had an uncanny ability to guess when Irelia was waiting for her, and simply never showed up. 

It had quickly become apparent that Riven was avoiding Irelia, in much the same way she avoided contact with her fellow Noxians. 

It was nothing short of galling, that Irelia would be put into a similar category to Darius or Swain... Even if she hadn't been attempting to make amends with Riven, it would have been offensive. 

The avoidance, the lack of progress, the seemingly impenetrable stone wall Irelia was beating her her head against... It all ignited a deep, gnawing frustration in her stomach. The feeling wasn't dissimilar to her usual anger, though there was an edge to it that felt deeper. 

Irelia's mind kept flicking back, fixating on the way Riven's eyes had lingered on her the morning she'd arrived at the Institute. She remembered the way Riven had slid into the chair at her side, and though the conversation had been stilted...

Irelia herself had been interested in the answers she'd sought, though she'd had a reason for asking them. Before her anger had been stirred like a hornet nest, she'd been curious about Riven.

She was still no closer to understanding what she really wanted from Riven, as out of touch with her feelings as she was. The only thing she could do was to keep trying - she could practically feel Karma's approval from all the way across the ocean. 

She couldn't let things persist as they had been, though. It was time to call in one last favour.

###

It had cost Irelia many promises, but Lux's information gathering skills had been well worth the sacrifice when the Demacian spy returned with proper intel. Unfortunately, the timing had given Irelia very little opportunity for self-reflection, and it was with no preparation that she had made her way to the location. 

According to Lux, Riven had been holing herself up in some old training rooms for the past week. The Exile had also proven herself to be quite paranoid, almost having caught Lux several times. However, after a week of relative peace, even she had slowly relaxed.

Irelia paused, her fingertips hovering above the tarnished doorknob, listening to the sounds from within the room. After a few moments, she heard a rapid series of thuds, reverberations through floorboards. Satisfied with Lux's intel, Irelia quietly slipped into the training room. 

Riven was the only one present in the mostly-forgotten training room, working through sword forms with a practiced, fluid ease. The precise pattern of strikes faltered - a telling moment of surprise as Riven's attention focused on Irelia. 

The forms resumed again almost immediately, as though Riven had never hesitated. The rapid, controlled thrusts of the sword snared Irelia's attention easily, the broken edge catching what little light filtered into the room from the skylights. 

There was a reason few champions visited the abandoned east-side training rooms - it was cold, poorly lit, and most of the equipment had long been stripped away and repurposed. But for the old reed mat fixed to the floorboards, the room had nothing to lend itself to proper training. 

Of course, Irelia doubted that such a thing would have bothered Riven. 

Irelia held her silence, her arms crossed before her chest and as she watched the other woman work. Riven had discarded the fragmented remnants of Noxian armour, laying them carefully to the side of the training room. Even from several paces away, Irelia could hear the harsh rasp of Riven's breath, and the pale light gleamed off the sheen of sweat on her arms and face. 

For all the conflict of their last encounter, Riven did not seem distracted by Irelia's arrival. She moved through her strikes, pivots and blows as though she was still completely alone. As though Irelia was not an enemy champion, someone who had every reason to want her dead.

Irelia watched her move, an odd heat curling in her stomach, the blades arrayed at her back practically thrumming with energy. Deep tension pervaded every fibre of her body, an echo of what she'd felt last time she'd faced Riven in the Rift. It only ever wound _tighter_ , growing and twisting inside her until the sensation was practically unbearable. 

She was certain it was anger - at Riven, at the situation, at Karma for having ordered more of her. Most potent of all was the anger at herself, for not having been strong enough to understand, for not being _sure_ enough to take action. With Riven's every sharp movement, the muscles in her arms cording as she swung her blade, the harsh exhale of air, the glint of light over runes - Irelia _felt_ it. 

She was breathless with tension, and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. She twitched as Riven pivoted sharply. The woman brought her blade down in a precisely controlled diagonal strike, before tucking in her shoulder and rolling. 

Irelia's patience - her control - snapped like thread. All she really knew was that she'd slipped, and that one of her blades had arced through the air toward Riven. 

Riven, barely reoriented from her roll, brought her hand up sharply. Irelia felt her entire body jolt as the woman - somehow - caught the blade's grip in her free hand, swinging it once to dispel the kinetic force. Her grip was surprisingly strong, Irelia noted, every muscle rigid. She'd forgotten how to breathe. 

Nobody ever touched her blades.

"I thought you didn't want my life." Riven's eyes were wary when she finally spoke, and the words seemed to break through some of Irelia's distraction. 

Irelia shook her head sharply, trying to rally herself. She closed the gap between them, and as she stepped onto the reed mats, she looked down at her blade, grasped loosely in Riven's wrapped hand. 

Without a word, Irelia stretched out her hand. The blade returned to her side effortlessly, but something still gnawed at her stomach, constant and all-consuming. She could see the rise and fall of Riven's chest, the glisten of sweat on her neck and collarbone. 

Swallowing, she returned her gaze to Riven's. 

Riven had touched the blade, had touched her, and... The realisation hit Irelia like a punch to her gut. The deep, simmering tension she'd felt hadn't been anger at all.

"You are correct. It's not your life I want." Irelia let her blades flow out into a careful array before her, shifting her feet across the reed mats as she moved into an offensive stance. "I want you to fight me at your best."

Irelia wanted _Riven_. It was simple, basic desire. No wonder she hadn't recognised it - she hadn't experienced it in so many years. 

Riven stared at Irelia for a moment, wordless, her red eyes both wary and confused. After a moment, she seemed to read something in Irelia, something important. Something needed. Riven nodded to herself, wiping her forehead and cheeks against the bandages wrapped about her wrists. Finally, she brought her blade across her body in a solid guard. 

Riven's expression betrayed nothing, but Irelia felt a shiver run down her spine regardless.

They moved carefully at first, testing one another's limitations without the muddying influence of summoners between them. Irelia moved her blades in careful formation, far too aware of her opponent's mortality. If Riven died here, a summoner's magic was not going to save her. Irelia hardly wished for things to end now, not when she still _needed_ Riven -

Riven darted in, parrying two of Irelia's blades in a half-moon block and pivoting past the third. The impossibly sharp edge of her broken sword came to a sudden, perfect halt just beneath Irelia's jaw. Had they been on the fields, Irelia was certain she would have learned how a beheading felt. 

She exhaled and met Riven's eyes, unafraid. 

"If you wish for me to fight at my best, then you need to fight me at yours," Riven told her, and those red eyes betrayed her smirk. She darted back, moving to a safer distance and resettling her grasp on her own sword. 

"Perhaps I was too cautious," Irelia allowed, a dry smile on her lips as she brought her blades back in a tight, defensive pattern. 

The exchange of blows began to flow, then. As Irelia urged her blades faster, focused in on her opponent, the resulting counters grew faster, more complex, until Riven was pulling out parries, blocks and dodges that should have been impossible. 

Even without the strange connection between them, Irelia would have enjoyed such a fight. But there was more, and it was exactly what she'd been seeking all this time.

With every block and counter, it felt like a fleeting touch against her own flesh, slowly building her tension to fever-pitch in her chest. Her own breath was coming far more quickly than she was accustomed to, and when she finally managed to force Riven back on the defensive, she spoke. 

"Your sword." Irelia should have been ashamed at how unsteady and breathless her own voice was. "Your sword is..."

Riven exhaled sharply. "I know." 

"You knew. You did feel it, then." Irelia clenched her jaw, a prickle of irritation forming in her stomach. At least Riven sounded just as breathless. "Then you withheld it knowingly?"

Riven didn't reply, and Irelia snorted to herself. The non-response was so typically Noxian - but the thought didn't contain nearly as much venom as it usually did. Irelia was enjoying herself far too much for that. 

Instead, Irelia sent two of her blades out to distract her opponent, and she said, "I do hope you plan to make up for it, Exile." 

As good as the fleeting touches - the tastes - felt, it was far from enough. She needed to force the issue, to provoke Riven into reforging the blade once more. She needed to feel.

During the next rapid exchange of blows, Irelia allowed her two of her blades lash out at her from either side. Satisfied that Riven's attention had been snared by the trade of blows, Irelia pressed her third and fourth blades against the small of her opponent's back even as the first two locked about the broken sword. 

Riven froze as Irelia leaned in, her breath coming hard, still so stubborn. Irelia watched her, practically trembling with tension and need - but she didn't move to press her lips to Riven's the way she wanted. Not yet. 

Finally, Riven closed her eyes for just a moment, as if deciding something. When she met Irelia's gaze once more, a chilling intensity had replaced the woman's usual flat focus. 

A thrill ran down Irelia's spine, and she stepped back, calling her blades to her side with a small wave of her hand. 

Riven stepped back, well outside of Irelia's usual range, but even from such a distance it was clear her fingertips were trembling. They skimmed down the flat of the blade, over broken, etched in runes, lighting each one of them in green fire. Irelia felt a faint stirring in the air - magic or vibration or the sweet shiver that had started up in her own muscles. 

The discarded fragments of Riven's rune sword reforged, materialising from nothing but perfectly regulated magical energy and the force of its wielder's will. 

Irelia felt her breath catch at the sight. Finally, after months of misplaced anger and confusion, it had happened. 

Riven met Irelia's eyes - she understood exactly what her actions meant. She felt it all, too. She levelled the great blade, the suggestion of reclaimed greatness evident in her every movement. They watched one another, teetering on the precipice of no return - before Riven inclined her head sharply and flashed forward. 

Irelia didn't hesitate, bringing all of her blades around to meet Riven's reforged sword in a single, powerful block. 

The sensation was almost blinding when their blades met, and from beyond the crackle of magic, Irelia heard Riven hiss in both pain and exertion. The sound was a timely reminder to hold it together. Even then, it was all Irelia could do to remember to lock her stance to help Riven maintain contact. 

The long-pursued feeling soaked through Irelia's every cell, a white-hot ocean. It felt far more intense than it had the first time around, not only because it had already lasted much longer. Irelia could feel the full complexity of human emotion now, the anger, the pain - and the unadulterated joy of battle. 

She could feel Riven's curiosity, regret and underneath it all, desire - it was enough to send Irelia's head spinning. 

Irelia could feel her arms shaking, her blades trembling under the full onslaught of emotion, the devastatingly personal nature of the share. It felt like unity with Riven, for a few dizzying moments. Without ever needing to open her eyes, she knew that sweat was rolling down Riven's face and arms, that she couldn't hold the reforged blade together much longer. 

It was a pity, but Riven had done more than enough. 

Irelia broke the connection first, but the sensation continued on, sending her reeling. Perhaps the duration of the connection had affected things. She barely rallied her blades fast enough to repel the next rapid succession of Riven's blows, and as off-balance as she was... 

She fell. 

Her blades felt useless and sluggish, and Riven could have killed her then and there. Perhaps another Noxian would have, called it a training room accident while ridding their nation of yet another critic. Instead, Riven stumbled over, attempting to pin her with what felt more like a boneless sprawl. The tip of her shattered sword gouged into the reed mat and floorboards by Irelia's throat. 

Irelia sucked in an unsteady breath, looking up at the woman above her. 

The look in Riven's eyes was pure intensity, and she seemed completely unaware of Irelia's blades arrayed at her back. Perhaps it was more accurate that she simply didn't care. Irelia could feel her own breath coming unnaturally fast, her heart pounding in her ribcage. She could feel proper warmth on her skin and the prickle of sweat on the small of her back, things she hadn't noticed in years. 

There was an ache between Irelia's legs that felt nothing short of unbearable. She had no idea how long the dregs of sensation would last, how long she'd have to function like this before it all faded away once more. 

She wanted to make the most of it. 

Irelia rose up, pushing herself to her elbows. Riven met her somewhere in the middle, hesitantly at first, as if testing. Her lips impossibly warm as they pressed against Irelia's cool ones, her chin damp with sweat.

Riven inhaled sharply the moment Irelia broke away, a sound that was all relief and desperation. The scent of her, of sweat and arousal and closeness... Irelia had forgotten so much, and it ignited the tension in her stomach like wildfire. 

She groaned, reaching out a hand that still felt weak, tugging Riven back in to claim those lips hungrily. She tasted Riven's full lower lip with a wide brush of her tongue, the tug in her stomach sharpening as she elicited a full-body shudder. Irelia couldn't seem to catch her breath, not with Riven responding under her touch like...

Distantly, Irelia was aware of her blades, hovering not far above them. They and the mantle were drifting and inert, as though at ease.

Satisfied, Irelia slid her hands down, easing her leg between the both of Riven's. She arched in close, trailing her lips across a prominent scar on Riven's collarbone, her tongue flicking out to taste sweat and skin. She felt Riven rock at the fleeting touch, still breathless and sweaty from their fight. 

Moving entirely on instinct, Irelia knotted her fingers in Riven's hair and rolled her own hips. She pressed her lips into the side of Riven's neck, grazing her free hand up the woman's side. As slowly as she could manage, Irelia's fingertips traced out the array of raised scars on exposed skin. 

She felt Riven shiver, the ragged draw of breath hot against the hollow of her jaw. Irelia allowed her eyes to drift shut as she felt Riven's lips part against her throat, losing herself in the sensation she'd been without for so long. Irelia pushed her free hand up and under the woman's clothing, palming her breast feverishly. 

Riven jerked, her sharp intake of air cool against Irelia's skin, and for a moment, it almost seemed as though she'd collapse. The honesty of the reaction made it even harder for Irelia to consider stopping - but perhaps it was already far too out of hand for that.

Heedless of old grudges and wise choices, Irelia instead fumbled her way free of her armour. She needed to feel Riven's skin against her own, _needed_ -

Irelia allowed Riven to tangle rough fingertips in her loose hair, pressing their foreheads together and holding her tight.

Irelia didn't even see the sword move - she jerked as it impacted deep into the reed mat and floorboards, just by her hip. The black stone was freezing as the flat of it rested against Irelia's exposed skin, the runes ignited by as Riven's grasp lingered on the sword's hilt. 

Riven looked down at her, worn clothing cast off to the side and down to her wrappings only, and her eyes... Irelia swallowed. She'd had no idea that Riven had needed it just the same. 

Irelia rose up, hooking an arm around Riven's neck and seizing her mouth again, claiming it for her own. She canted her hips, rolling them almost lazily, only satisfied when she felt Riven twitch, felt her rock down against Irelia's still armoured thigh. Riven broke the kiss with a shaky inhale, and Irelia allowed her to remove the rest of her armour and loosen the laces on her breeches. 

A full-body thrill ran through Irelia, and she tightened her fingers convulsively in Riven's pale hair. She desperately needed it, whether Riven was a Noxian or not. She closed her eyes again, arching as Riven eased down her body, trailing a hot tongue across the blades of her hip. 

Riven settled between Irelia's legs, pulling her breeches down just far enough. Irelia sucked in a trembling breath as the woman leaned down and -

The first press of Riven's tongue was jolting, both warm, hesitant and pleasantly surprising. Irelia threw her head back instinctively, her mouth open and already impossibly dry. Her fingers were still tangled in the mess she'd made of Riven's hair, and blindly, she reached out with her other hand. She seized hold of the broken sword's hilt, her fingers wrapping partly over Riven's steady grip. 

She'd hoped it would anchor her - if anything, the renewed contact with the sword, with Riven, made her even more sensitive. Riven's fingers readjusted, trapping Irelia's own against the hilt, as if she knew.

Irelia bit the inside of her cheek as Riven's tongue moved in wide, relentless patterns against her, her grasp on the sword hilt clenching tighter when lips closed over just the right spot. Her breath seized in her throat as the stroke of Riven's tongue grew heavier, more focused, merciless.

Riven's other hand rubbed small circles over a spot on Irelia's hip, her breath hot and heavy. The small sound she made when Irelia's grip twisted reflexively over her own -

Irelia saw stars from the slight vibration alone. An unbearable heat began to prickle at the base of her spine, and she arched up and into Riven's mouth. She wasn't sure she could take it any longer - she'd been wound so tightly for so many years. For a single, desperate moment, Irelia was certain that she'd break under the onslaught of Riven's lips and tongue rather than -

Her grip on Riven's hair tightened, and she was unable to choke back her long, low moan as she was finally dragged over the edge. 

The training room was silent but for the harsh gasp of Irelia's breath, the pounding of blood in her ears. Her entire body felt slack and spent, the tension that had plagued her for so long simply evaporating away. She felt calm and _refocused_ in a way she hadn't been for years.

Irelia didn't disentangle her hand from Riven's, still reeling. It was only when her breathing began to slow that she carefully pushed herself back up onto her elbow, releasing her grasp on Riven's hair. 

Riven was watching her, her gaze steady as she wiped her mouth and chin on the wrappings on her wrist. Though her expression was as carefully blank as ever to an untrained eye, there was the suggestion of a smirk on her lips.

"Don't think I'm through with you," Irelia told Riven, amused at the woman's muted self-satisfaction. She shifted, reaching out to cup Riven's face in her palm, to urge the woman back up her body. 

Feeling would eventually fade away - she knew it could not last. Fond memories would not. Irelia claimed Riven's lips once more, heedless of the lingering taste. She fully intended to enjoy herself while she still could.


End file.
